


left for the flies

by shirohyasha



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Fateful Encouter AU, M/M, The Apocalypse, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Villain!Masato, Villain!Ranmaru, aka Alan and Toma, uhhhhh mass murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirohyasha/pseuds/shirohyasha
Summary: Toma takes a two-week vacation, and when he comes back, there's a new scar on his chest and a heart surgeon in Niigata has been shot in the head.





	left for the flies

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: violence, gore, side character deaths, torture, rape, yandere-esque behaviour

The first time Toma sees Alan, he falls in love.

 

It’s not hard to break Alan out of the laboratory. He doesn’t even need to unlock the door. He just releases the lock on his human form and Alan tears the walls of his prison apart, and when he comes for Toma, Toma just laughs.

“I wouldn’t kill me yet,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Alan listen.

 

Their first encounter with Darkmoon, and every subsequent encounter, ends disastrously. The Future Destroyers seem to want to control Alan, to use him to take over the world. Toma swears he will not let that happen. Alan just laughs at him, pitiful fool, because he can’t be controlled and he’ll destroy himself before he’s used for such a miserable goal.

 

Alan hates Toma. Alan hates Toma but he wants to destroy the world more, and so Toma lives. If Toma dies, so does Alan. His circuitry will be fried, he’ll be rendered useless. He’ll die, except he was never alive.

Toma tells him this laughing. There’s blood dripping from his mouth and an eye is swollen shut and Alan’s hand is fisted in the front of his cheap suit, and Toma swears allegiance to a cyborg that wants him dead along with the rest of the world.

“You can kill me last,” Toma rasps through the hand around his throat. “I’ll die when there’s only you left.”

“I want you dead now,” Alan snarls. “If you’re so loyal, you’ll tell me how to kill you.”

Toma’s eyes fall shut and his head falls back. “I’ll do anything for you but that,” he swears.

Alan drops Toma to the floor and kicks him in disgust, and Toma retches up blood and bile, wheezing. He doesn’t stop laughing, low and insane.

“Where to next, Lord Alan?” Toma asks. “I will follow your every order.”

Alan stalks off, and Toma struggles to his feet and follows.

 

They destroy an amusement park. They destroy a street, a neighbourhood, a city. Darkmoon tries to stop them, lowering himself to teaming up with heroes, but it never works. They pick the heroes off one by one, and Toma kills Toki without remorse.

“At least you’re fucking useful,” Alan mutters. “Tell me how to kill you.”

And Toma bows, and says “Not today,” as he always does.

 

Alan tries torturing it out of him. Toma screams and screams and screams as his nails are pried off, as his arms are sliced to ribbons, as Alan breaks his ribs and ankle.

“Still don’t wanna tell me?” Alan growls. Toma laughs, voice ruined.

“When there’s nothing left,” he coughs out.

 

Toma sets his ankle and bandages his arms and fingers, and hopes his rib isn’t too displaced that it’ll stop him from fighting. Alan backhands him when he walks too slowly, and Toma apologises and wipes the blood from his mouth.

He kills hundreds of people. He watches as Alan kills thousands more. Destruction and madness, cruelty and death. There is nothing left alive when they’re done.

The hero lab sends people after him. The Future Destroyers send more, apparently having given up on their quest to rule the world and turned instead to protecting it. Toma kills whoever he can, keeps himself alive because he won’t die before he sees everything end.

 

Alan tortures him again, more carefully this time. He’d been irritated at his slow pace and his hands, shaky as they held a sword. He carves patterns into Toma’s ribs, slices along the nerves in his legs. Toma gurgles, choking on his own blood, and Alan grins as he howls.

“Still won’t tell me?” Alan asks, and Toma moans.

“I won’t tell you,” he gasps, and spits out his own blood. “I won’t tell you until everything’s destroyed.”

 

Syozawa is a hard kill. Cess is harder still, both fuelled by grief over the professor and rage at their actions. Toma is too close to mortal to be any use in this fight but he kills everyone who tries to interfere, wounds Oto who is only saved when Darkmoon appears to whisk him away.

“Coward,” Toma snarls, and then follows as Alan prepares to finish off Cess. He’s covered in gore, in Syozawa’s innards and Cess appears to have lost the will to fight on.

“Someone will stop you,” he swears. “Someone will find out how.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t gonna be you,” Alan says, and takes his head off in one clean swipe. Toma is entranced, in awe, worshipful. He wants nothing more than to follow Alan until there is nothing but themselves left to destroy.

 

Toma cleans the blood from Alan that evening. There are spatters of innards, chunks of organs stuck to his pseudo-skin. Alan reaches up a clawed hand and tears Toma’s shirt off in one smooth line, slicing a shallow bloody streak into the skin too.

“My Lord?” Toma asks, apparently only bothered by the cut as it risks getting blood on Alan. “What is it?”

Alan rests a hand over the still-pink scar diagonally slicing Toma’s heart in two. Then he digs a claw into the top of it and opens it, drags his nail down the scar until it’s bleeding freely.

“Tell me how to kill you,” Alan demands. Toma smiles, and shakes his head.

“I will not tell you,” he says. “Not until you finish what you’ve started.”

Alan throws him to the ground and looms. “Tell me,” he orders.

Toma just smiles again, smiles when Alan tears the remainders of his clothes away, laughs in the breaths between screams when he fucks him. He bleeds hard, torn open, and it hurts more than he’s ever hurt before.

“Tell me,” Alan snarls, but Toma can’t catch his breath between screaming long enough to deny him.

 

Toma kills another hundred people, a thousand. He helps Alan set bombs, limps along behind him on his still-broken ankle. He poisons a water supply, watches the skylines burn. They stick to populated areas, so they won’t be bombed, but those are rapidly dwindling.

“We’re going overseas,” Alan orders. “Find a way.”

“Yes, Lord Alan.” Toma obeys. Alan only tortures him some nights. He has no interest in humanity, no interest in Toma’s reactions to stimuli, no interest in torturing him for fun.

Toma cleans the wound on his chest every time Alan opens it again, bandages over it. He stitches it up whenever it’s opened deeply enough. He can’t die yet.

 

He’s face down in the dirt when Alan leans over him, spines of his outfit digging into Toma’s back, and hisses out “ _Hijirikawa Mai._ ”

Toma reacts with anger, the first time Alan has ever wrung such a reaction from his thrall. He wrenches himself over, heedless of the wounds on his back landing in the dirt.

“You – ” he snarls, and tries to punch Alan. Alan catches his fist easily, crushes it in his own. The bones in Toma’s hand grind together.

Then he laughs, and falls back to the dirt. “I would expect nothing else from my Alan,” he says, and laughs again. There are no tears in his eyes, though Alan knows what happened to her.

“I’m not your anything,” Alan snarls, and shatters the bones in his hand. Toma screams, but it’s thin, reedy.

“You are,” he pants. “Our goals align so perfectly. It’s like they made you for me,” Toma gasps out, eyes sheened with madness. “Made just to fulfil my dreams.” He reaches up his free hand for Alan’s face, but it falls before it makes contact.

“Is she why?” Alan asks, leans in close, doesn’t let go of Toma’s shattered hand. “Are they why you want to watch the world burn?”

“Don’t be silly,” Toma rasps. “Everyone wants to destroy everything. I just have nothing to stop me from doing it.”

Alan thrusts into him again, tearing the half-formed scabbing that had congealed where they were joined and Toma screams, but there’s another edge to this one, something desperately broken dragged to the surface.

“Say the other name,” Toma gasps. “I know you know it. Say it.”

Alan shakes his head slowly, grinning, and Toma lunges upwards, fists his one good hand in Alan’s feathery coat. “Say it,” he roars, and Alan slices open his chest.

“Tell me how to kill you, and I’ll say it,” he says, and Toma falls to the floor and doesn’t move for the rest of the night.

 

They carry on. Armed police are sent after them, militaries from other countries, mercenaries, everyone and anyone. Alan leaves Toma alone for days at a time.

“You’ll die as you are,” he snaps. “Stay here. Stay alive, unless you wanna tell me how to kill you.”

Toma watches him. “If you don’t come back, I will kill myself,” he says. “I’ll destroy you, if you won’t let me follow you.”

Alan grunts. “Whatever. I’ll be back in a week.”

Toma uses the time to sew up his wounds, to rebreak some of the bones of his hand so he can set them properly. His ankle is healing poorly, walked on so frequently, and the cuts and wounds Alan leaves on him are closing slowly. He stitches them up, disinfects them and bandages them carefully. The slash across his chest is still leaking blood, days later, and he’s worried about an infection. One so close to his heart would kill him quickly.

He doesn’t have disinfectant so he uses iodine, stolen from a school chemistry lab on one of their rampages. He paints his chest orange, stains the rest of his wounds with it. Bandages weren’t so hard to find.

 

Toma is almost healthy by the time Alan returns the third time, again covered in blood and scratches and burned-off patches of human-like skin. Toma frets over him, cleans away the gore and patches over the missing skin.

“Were you some kinda doctor?” Alan asks idly, as Toma fixes him as best he can.

“In a way,” Toma says. “I was an anatomical consultant for the hero labs. I know a lot about the human body.”

There’s a lot more he could say about his skills, but Alan isn’t interested in hearing it and Toma doesn’t really want to talk about it if his lord won’t insist.

“You’re moving freer,” Alan observes.

“I am,” Toma agrees. “I have treated my wounds. The risk to you is minimal, I promise.”

Alan watches him with lazy eyes. “Sure you’ll let me kill you?” he asks.

“I would never lie to you,” Toma swears. “I will follow you to the ends of the earth, and once you have destroyed it all, I will tell you how to kill me.”

Alan reaches up and curls his claws around Toma’s throat, and Toma goes pliant and obedient and something Alan has never wanted.

“Best hurry it up then,” Alan says, and Toma drops to his knees.

 

Alan is not interested in sex except to hurt him, and Toma doesn’t respond to it any more than he does any other kind of torture. Alan doesn’t fuck him for _fun_ , though he can get off on it. Toma simply waits it out, as he does when Alan slices open his skin or breaks his bones or chokes off his air or holds his head underwater. He’s growing more creative.

Alan never says the names again.

 

“Tell me how to kill you,” Alan orders, and Toma laughs.

“Not yet,” he says.

 

Toma kills Oto with a great deal of difficulty. He’s bleeding freely, heavily, when he’s done, and Darkmoon is furious enough that he lunges straight at Toma, ignoring Alan.

“I’ll kill you,” he hisses. “I’ll kill you for this.”

Alan stops him, but he’s exhausted and Darkmoon is stronger than them both, by a fraction, so Alan can only snatch Toma from where he’s bleeding out on the floor and disappear.

“Toma,” Alan snaps, and shakes him. “Toma, you’re dying.”

Toma reaches up, smears blood on Alan’s cheek. “This won’t kill me,” he rasps. “My medical kit. I need – bandages. Disinfectant. A needle.”

Alan follows Toma’s instructions easily enough, and watches in something approaching horror as Toma slices off his clothes and sews the flaps of skin back together.

“Won’t heal properly,” he gasps. “Will always be injured.”

Alan watches as he soaks the blood from his skin with hot wet scraps of his coat, boils a needle and threads it with shaky hands, sews his wounds shut neatly despite them. Toma’s gaze lingers on his poorly set fingers for a moment longer than they usually would.

“Iodine,” he rasps, and Alan splashes it over the sutures. Toma screams at the sting.

“My apologies for getting so badly wounded,” he gasps out. “I will – recover as quickly as I’m able.”

“You could just let me kill you,” Alan tells him, and Toma’s laughter is weak.

“I will see everything burn,” he says, and Alan thinks he’s starting to believe him.

**Author's Note:**

> toma and alan are literally the names you get if you swap the kanji in masato and ranmaru i am DONE


End file.
